


the problems of an angel boyfriend (by dean winchester)

by peradi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Castiel Does Not Understand Humans, Crack, Dirty Talk, Fail!sex, First Time, Fisting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, accidental fisting, castiel does not understand sex, dean does not understand gay sex, handjobs, porn without purpose, really bad sex, true love saves the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:57:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to introduce Castiel to sex. </p><p>It proves to be far harder than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the problems of an angel boyfriend (by dean winchester)

**Author's Note:**

> utter crack.

 

The first time Dean gives Cas an orgasm the angel sends him to Heaven. 

Literally. 

One moment it's Dean's hand on Cas's dick, and everything is the tug-grip-yesyes _yes_ of good sex and then--

Boom. White light. He's in a park. 

He sees Dad in the distance and -- 

Castiel's hand burns onto his shoulder. 

He's back in a sleazy motel in Connecticut. 

"Dude," says Dean: a little scared, a little horny, and largely horrified that he still has an erection. "Did you just kill me?"

"You did something to my vessel," says Castiel accusingly. His eyes are slanted with suspicion, and fury curls his lips. "Everything went...wrong. It exploded. And  _something_ ," he hissed, " _came out --_ "

Oh God. Oh God it's like that scene with Cameron Diaz but Cas isn't smearing the cum in his hair -- he's got it all dripping down his stomach, pooling in the juts of his hips ---

"Have you never had an orgasm before?"

"What is that?" and  _son of a bitch_ that is the saddest thing that Dean has ever heard. Castiel's face is all righteous vengeance still, so Dean presses a series of soft kisses to his jawline. Castiel makes this low, disconcerted sound. 

"I do not understand -- " he starts, but Dean smooths his hands over Castiel's spine, rubs his shoulderblades -- massaging where he imagines that wings would burst out. Imagines the curve of feathers, muscles strong enough to carry his Cas between the stars. 

"I'll explain," says Dean, and he does. 

Then he demonstrates.

\--

Later that night, and Castiel is whining, begging for Dean to keep going. Dean shakes his hand out, feels the bones in his wrist  _rattle_. Pain lances up to his elbow like lightning under his skin. 

"Touch me Dean, please touch me," he says, and his voice is raspier than ever: sex-scraped and shivering with want. He sprawls his legs wider, displaying his red and leaking cock. It's still hard. Of course it is. 

Dean sighs. "Once more, and it's down to you," he says, and spits into his palm. 

At this rate he's going to end up with carpal tunnel. 

\--

He doesn't.

He does get blisters. 

\--

"Suck him off," says Sam. 

Sam is drunk. And an idiot. 

Dean is also drunk. He is not an idiot, as he demonstrates through his faultless rebuttal to such an absurd suggestion: "M'not gay."

"You're wanking off an angel. You're  _making out with an angel_."

"M'not gay," Dean says, again. Sam's got a stupid judgy face.  _Two_ separate judgy faces -- and they kind of swirl around, like ice cream or water. Blend together a bit -- and  _that_ is excessive. All that judgement. "Just cos you're gay."

"I'm not. But Dean, seriously."

Dean looks at his hands. _  
_

They are red. 

They have blisters. 

Not major ones. But red enough, and sore enough, to make him baulk at the prospect of another night spent jacking Castiel off -- for at least two hours, maybe more. 

"Use your mouth," says Sam, low and earnest. 

"I'm scared," says Dean. A flush rides high on his cheekbones as he realises that alcohol has affected him in the worse possible way. He's grown a vagina. He's talking about feelings. Probably time to start shopping for a training bra. "What if I'm shit at it?"

"Cas has never had a mouth on his penis," says Sam, in the same solemn tones. "Doesn't matter if you're shit at it."

That is a good point. That is an excellent point.

He will do this!

The ceiling  _bulges_ and Dean falls, slowly, onto the carpet. He lands in a clatter of limbs. 

It is comfy here. 

He will introduce Castiel to the art of the blowjob tomorrow. 

\--

Dean's never sucked dick before. 

It can't be that hard, right?

He tried to watch some porn -- you know, for pointers -- but it was all huge huge  _huge_ dicks and deepthroating and too much semen and--

He got a little. Uh. Distracted. 

\-- 

Okay -- he was  _a little bit gay._

\--

" _Bisexual_ ," he crows to Sam, later, when they're eating Chinese, huddled around the laptop as it attempts to buffer Family Guy. "It's not just for hot slutty chicks ya know. It's for hot slutty  _guys_. Like me."

"Is this you coming out? Dude, I've known since you tried to fuck that drag queen in Texas --"

" _How was I meant to know --_ they had a dress, and heels, and a really good fake rack -- "

"He had a  _beard_ Dean. A  _beard_."

\--

 

Sam's out at the library, jerking off to books or whatever it is he does. And Dean has the motel room to himself - so the first thing he does is pray. 

"Castiel, get down here so I --"

He doesn't get to finish the prayer. 

Castiel arrives with a sound like ten thousand birds taking flight. Dean is about to say something -- about his eyes looking sexy; he likes the flush that blooms on Cas's neck when he's complimented -- but Castiel is already in his arms, kissing him wet and sloppy and  _hungry_. Dean kisses back: no finesse at all, just plunging his tongue towards Castiel's tonsils like the taste of Castiel's throat is the best thing in the world.

(to be fair, it is)

They end up on the bed, naked. Castiel has this habit of miracling Dean's clothes away without any notice -- but Dean doesn't really care. Stripping is over-rated. It's better to get to the good stuff. 

With considerable difficulty, he pulls himself away from Cas. "Lie back," he orders, eyeing Castiel's crotch with professional curiosity. 

"I thought you said that there would be no more handjobs," says Cas, mournfully -- but there's a spark of hope in his depthless, marvelous blue eyes. "Have you reconsidered?"

Dean's hands are bandaged. They are  _oozing_. The only reason he hasn't asked Castiel to heal them is because he knows that it would  _kill_ Cas to realise that he was the reason that Dean was injured -- and Dean can't stand to see hurt on that wonderful, wonderful face. 

Shut up. Like he said: he's probably already got a vagina. Might as well buy make-up and start calling himself Trixie.

"You'll love this," he promises. 

He starts off simple: butterfly kisses all around Castiel's thighs and groin, working in a spiral towards the cock in question. He stops shy of it each time, letting his breath gust warm and moist over the head. 

Castiel makes this low, impatient noise. 

"I do not know what you are doing Dean -- I prefer you kissing my  _oh God --_ "

And that's it: Dean's going to Hell. Again. Castiel's eyes cross, his hips buck up--Dean gags, pulls back -- and the room rings with Castiel's lostpuppy whines. "Dude, no thrusting, kay? Just relax." 

Castiel's pupils are huge; his eyes are basically two puddles of nightsky. "Do that again, oh please oh  _please_ \--"

There's an unbearably smug grin on Dean's face as he lowers his mouth again. It doesn't take more than a couple of strategic licks around the head to have Cas drumming his fists on the bed in frustration. 

Dean's feeling brave. He swallows half of Castiel's length down. One of the sites he checked out recommended clamping the thumb between fingers and palm to help with the whole deepthroating thing. It helps, marginally, but what helps more is Dean's sheer determination to  _do this right_ \--

He gets about two thirds of the way there when Castiel cums. Dean sprawls back, pearlescent streams dangling from his lips as he starts to say, " _Cas warn me_ \--"

Another spurt whacks him in the eye.

\--

" _Allergies,"_ he tells Sam the next day. 

"Yeah. In one eye."

\--

"I would like to 'go down' on you as well," says Cas, and Dean can almost  _hear_ the quotation marks jangling between the words. 

"Go ahead tiger," he growls.

Castiel nibbles his earlobe. Dean  _loves_ it when Castiel plays rough -- so he pushes himself up against his (boyfriend? partner? what?) angel until Castiel obliges and sinks his teeth in, sucking until a ripe poppy of a bruise forms. "God, that's good," Dean sighs. 

"You're mine," Cas whispers, and the words go right to Dean's cock. "All mine."

"Yes. I am. Always."

Castiel smirks, feral and sharp as the soldier he is, and down he goes, biting at Dean's chest as he does so. He leaves a string of marks like pawprints. At Dean's nipples he stops, lingers, chewing and lapping until the nubs are so swollen and tender that Dean cries out, begs him to stop. 

Castiel flicks his tongue against Dean's belly button and then he finds Dean's cock, sucks it into his mouth. His mouth is paradise, Eden, everything good: a wet warm sheathe and Dean could--

_redredredohjesuschristohFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK --_

\--

"Human men have very sensitive...manbits," says Dean.  He's finished throwing up. Castiel has healed the damage. And yet Dean is still pale as old milk, slick with sweat. "Never -- _never_ \-- bite them. Bite  _anywhere else_ but not there." 

"Human sex is complex," says Cas. "I see I have much to learn."

\--

It has been a month, and Dean has decided. 

It is time for buttstuff. 

Obviously, he is the man -- so Castiel should be the first to give it up. 

But then he has a proper think, and decides that it is monumentally unfair to permit Cas to lose out on the wonder of losing your virginity by putting your cock in something. It is a truly special moment for a man -- the first time that he gets his dick wet. It is spiritual, primal, shining. And somehow Dean feels the moment would be cheapened if Cas had already lost his V Plates via butt-stabbing.  _  
_

He explains this reasoning to Sam.

Sam blinks at him. 

"Dean, it's okay to admit that you want to bottom. Also, stop telling me about your sex life. It's gross."

Sam is stupid. 

\--

"Fingers first," he tells Cas. "Get me nice and loose. And then just slide right on in."

He should have specified  _how many_ fingers.

Dean's eyes cross. The only sound he can produce is a thin whimper. 

It doesn't  _hurt_ exactly --  Cas's creepy angel mojo has numbed and lubed the region in question -- but it feels so strange that Dean can't form words. 

Cas wriggles his fingers. "You are wonderfully tight," he says, "so very good. You fit so snugly around my hand. I enjoy this activity."

Dean's prostate is being nudged. It reacts with absolute joy, and Dean sees white fractals as he cums hard all over the sheets. 

However, Dean's prostate is being nudged by Castiel's  _knuckle_. The rest of his fingers are --

Well. 

"We need to talk," says Dean, and his voice comes out several octaves higher than normal.

\--

"Meatloaf," says Sam, later that day, " _really?"_

Dean shifts from one buttcheek to the other. He can't bring himself to sing along, but the lyrics reverberate around the trio --

 _I'll do anything for love, but I won't do that_.

\--

"I've always liked the idea of an audience while I fuck someone," Dean says one night. They're discussing sexual fantasies. Castiel does not seem to have them -- at least, not beyond 'fucking Dean into the middle of next week.' "You know: praising me, cheering me on."

"I understand," says Cas, "I too enjoy having my praises sung. It reminds me of home."

The following night, Dean is balls deep in Cas when the room fills with light -- of the blinding variety -- and the air suddenly turns golden with the voices of a heavenly choir. 

"I asked for the help of my brothers," Castiel says, curling around Dean, smiling like the cat with the cream. "This is my present to you!"

"Uh," says Dean. 

Castiel continues to smile. The angels -- who don't seem to be wearing meatsuits -- continue to sing their haunting, beautiful song. _Hallelujah, hallelujah, praise be --_

It is a little blasphemous. 

Which, of course, Dean  _loves._

Dean pins Castiel to the bed, wrenches his arms back and loses himself in the thrust and shove and slide of skin, hypnotised by the play of light on Castiel's sweat-mirrored ribs --

"Wow, go get it little brother," Balthazar coos, and wolfwhistles. 

"Go for it Dean-O!" joins in Gabriel.

"Why am I here?" wails Sam. "Gabriel, this was meant to be a date!"

Dean's never lost an erection faster.

\--

Two months since they started shagging, and the sex is still a challenge. Castiel just doesn't understand humans. The cock-biting, the accidental fisting, the brother-watching sex may be over but more problems keep coming up!

"Again?" says Dean, wearily. It is four in the morning. Castiel is circling one finger around Dean's hole. His face is alive with lust. "I'm tired, and sore --"

Castiel lays hands on Dean. All that soreness vanishes -- he goes from being fucked-out, sloppy and wet and damn near gaping to tight and ready. His head clears; the fug of sleep is seared away. 

That's the problem. Castiel insists on healing Dean up. 

Dean bowled Castiel over. The angel could have overpowered him, but he doesn't want to: he folds his arms behind his head, smiles wide and open as the sky as Dean starts to rub his cock back and forth along the cleft of his arse, teasing him. 

And this happens every night! Dean's never tired, always healthy, and has tons of sex whenever he wants. 

Isn't that dreadful?


End file.
